When You're Playing with Fire
by RiskyRosie
Summary: When Clare is presented with a challenge, she faces it head on. Unless, of course, that challenge is Owen Milligan. She wasn't sure if she should take him head on, or hands on or . . . or should she just let him have the better of her? Was her fascination with Owen worth her friendships? You know what they say . . . when you're playing with fire, you might just get burnt.
1. Can't Say No To A Challenge

"For the last time, Owen, no," I said. I slammed my locker and tried to walk off from the big football player. But, he stepped around me and blocked my way again.

"Why not? I'm not asking for much," he said. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Just one date."

"Why should I go on a date with you?" I asked sharply. I had plenty of reasons to stay away from Owen Milligan. Apart from the obvious Adam-related issue, he wasn't my type. I liked nice guys- well, guys who were polite. Owen was a pig. He was also large, and bulky. I didn't find him very handsome.

"Why shouldn't you?" he asked. "Don't you ever take a risk?" Of course I took risks. I took plenty of risks, and my almost criminal record could prove that.

"Why should I?" I countered.

"I know what your problem is," said Owen. I tried to step around him again, but he wouldn't let me.

"I'm going to be late," I said, even though I knew that wouldn't stop him. Truancy wasn't much more than an afterthought to him.

"You're afraid," said Owen. "You're afraid that you might actually like me."

"I'm _not _afraid of liking you," I said. There was no way in Hell that I would ever have a romantic notion towards Owen. Never ever.

"Alright. Prove it," he said.

"No. I don't have to."

"Clare, I know you. You're the type of person that can't say no to a challenge."

"I can, and I will. Goodbye, Owen," I said. He finally let me pass him.

"Fine. I just thought you would be woman enough to handle me. I suppose you're not. I bet that Jenna girl is, though. Maybe I should give her a call?" I fumed. I knew he was just trying to rile me up, but that didn't stop me from getting mad. In some stupid, gorilla way, Owen was a smart cookie.

I turned around and called back to Owen. "When and where?" I said. I was so happy that the bell was about to ring, and the hallway was empty. I wouldn't have anyone to explain this lapse of judgment to.

"Meet me at the park at four thirty. Near the swings." I turned and walked off without another word. This was stupid. And, with all the stupid things I do nowadays, I have to make sure Alli doesn't know. Not yet, anyway. We still weren't the best friends we used to be before the Jake incident. All she would do was spill to her other friends, like Jenna. I still wasn't very keen on Jenna, but I bit my tongue.

Telling Eli and Adam were also out of the question. It just was. Before Christmas, Eli wanted to get back together with me, I think, but his therapist changed his medication over the break, and his relationship drive, among others, had fallen to the wayside. Besides, he had thrown himself into his new play, and he had little time for my problems. And Adam . . . Adam would understand my motives, but I know it would hurt him.

Something told me that Owen wouldn't be dishing to any of his macho bastard friends. He needed to feel me out first, because his friends probably wouldn't approve of me, just like my friends wouldn't dare approve of him.

I barely missed the late bell getting to my first period class. Science. I bumped the snake's habitat as I walked to my seat. I didn't like that snake. He looked at me sometimes, like he remembered seeing me and Jake making out in this room a few months ago.

It hissed at me. "Oh, shut up," I muttered at it. I took my seat next to Alli. Jenna sat behind Alli, and Adam sat on the other side of me. Adam was there, like he always was.

"Good morning," he said. He pulled the ear buds out of his ears and shoved them into his pocket. "You look pink," he said. "Have you been running from something?"

"Oh, I just rushed to class," I said, which was true, but that wasn't why I was pink. I couldn't tell Adam that I was flustered because Owen asked me on a date.

"Did you do last night's homework?" he asked, pulling his notebook out. We were supposed to answer questions about the energy pyramid. Of course, I did my homework yesterday in class.

"Yeah," I said. I handed him my tattered notebook. It looked very different next to his almost new one, but that was just because I used mine, and so did Adam. "You know, your grade would be better if you actually did your work."

"I know, I know. I just don't have the time," he laughed. "With my bumping social life, I barley have time to eat and sleep, much less do this trivial homework."

"You fell asleep in front of the Xbox again, didn't you?"

"Yes. You know me too well." Adam worked to copy my work.

"Clare?" asked Alli from my other side. "Do you know if Eli is done with his script yet?"

"He's done with most of it," I said. He told me about the plight he was facing last night. "But that girl he has to work with hates it. They've been fighting ever since they teamed up."

"I wanted to audition for a part. Do you think you could put in a good word? I want to be a star!" Alli said with a smile. I didn't say anything, because Eli's play would be a little to _alternative _for Alli's taste. She didn't mind alternative lifestyles, but I know she'd rather watch Cinderella or The Wizard of Oz.

"I'll try. I don't know if they'll ever get done pouring over the script," I replied.

"I remember when Declan directed that other play. It was fun to be the star," said Jenna. "But I don't think Eli is as easy to work with."

"Oh, he's not," I said. "He's not known for his flexibility."

"And you would know about Eli's _flexibility,_ wouldn't you?" asked Jenna jokingly. I turned away to Alli, so Jenna didn't catch me roll my eyes.

"No one knows him better than Clare," said Adam. Had he been listening in?

"Hey, is that Owen?" asked Jenna. Her wandering eyes compelled her to change the subject, like a small child, or a monkey. She pointed to the door. Owen was standing there, leaning against the doorframe, looking like an idiot.

"Yes it is," said Alli. "Has he always been that buff?"

"Yeah, he was really ripped when he tossed me through that glass door," said Adam sourly.

"Maybe he's changed," said Jenna without taking her eyes off of Owen's body. I don't know why, but I felt like Jenna was staring at something that wasn't hers, and she needed to back off. Gosh, I hadn't even gone on that stupid date yet, and I felt jealous already. I wouldn't like Owen. I couldn't like Owen. I didn't like Owen, but I didn't like Jenna more than I didn't like Owen, so, normally, I would hate everything she does.

"Yeah, isn't his little brother gay?" asked Alli.

"Yes, he is. That just makes what he did worse," I said. "Why are you on his side? Don't you remember the BRI?" I abbreviated because Adam didn't know about how Owen offered Alli money for a hookup in the boiler room, and I didn't know if Jenna knew. She probably did. BRI stood for Boiler Room Incident.

"That was a long time ago, and it wasn't exactly his fault," she said. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Alli had always had a weakness for handsome men. Not that I thought Owen was handsome, but Alli probably did. "People change, Clare. You know that."

I didn't reply, and the conversation lulled. I was thankful when the teacher started our lesson. Alli had started to pour over math with Connor. Something about algorithms and macular degeneration, while I was still studying in my book, trying to understand the concept of an energy pyramid. I've always hated pyramids of all kinds. They always had a way of making me feel inadequate.


	2. Knowing This Was A Mistake

I adjusted my hat and looked over my sunglasses. It was three fifty-nine, and I didn't see Owen anywhere. I wasn't really _disguised, _I just didn't want anyone I knew to recognize me with Owen before I could hide behind something. Owen was big enough. I could probably hide behind him. I had been here for fifteen minutes, and the cold metal of the bench was starting to chill me.

"What are you doing?" I wiped around. Owen was standing behind me with a pick nick basket in one hand, and his car keys in the other. Damn, the only direction I didn't look! "I like the hat, but the sunglasses are a little bit much. If you just didn't want to be seen with me, you shouldn't have showed up."

"I'm a woman of my word. I said I would be here, so I'm here," I replied. "What's in the basket?" _A camera? A handgun? Jell-O? _

"Pft, why should I tell you? It's my basket. Anyway, we won't be here for long. Come on, let's go," said Owen. He turned to walk the other way, towards the parking lot.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I said, standing up and crossing my arms over my chest.

"Well, I don't think it would be good for either of us to be seen together. This place is crawling with Degrassi Geeks," said Owen. To reinforce this, he pointed behind me. Conner and K.C. were throwing the football around. How could I miss them? Maybe because I was looking for Owen. "Come one, let's just take a ride."

"I'm not getting in your car," I said.

"Why not? Is poor little Clare-bear scared?" Owen taunted.

"I'm not scared," I said. I walked around the bench and followed Owen out to the parking lot. I stayed a pace or two behind him, knowing this was a mistake. I wasn't going to let this dumbass get the better of me. Not now, not ever.

Owen drove a black four-door Ford truck with tinted windows. It was like him- big and obnoxious. He opened my door for me, but Owen's pseudo-chivalry didn't impress me. I knew he wasn't actually polite. Owen drove out of the parking lot and out into a rough road. Owen's large tires rode over the road's bumps like they were new asphalt.

"Like the ride?" he asked. Actually, I did like the ride. The inside was new, and clean and stylish, even though it was a huge gas guzzler.

"It's nice," I said coldly. I pulled my hat and sunglasses off and tossed them in the backseat.

He reached out and pressed a button under the radio. "Seat warmers," he said. I can't say that the heated seats weren't pleasant, since I had been sitting on a cold metal bench.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"That depends. When's your curfew, little girl? Eight thirty?" he chuckled. I told my mom that I was working on a school project with a friend, and that she shouldn't wait up. She's going out with Glen for a late, romantic dinner tonight, so I knew she wouldn't worry about me getting home. Hell, she would probably prefer if I stayed out all night.

"Ten," I said. I almost conceded to eight thirty, but admitting he was right would bother me more than spending time with him. Going home at ten meant I wouldn't have to spend more than four hours with this creep, but he would have enough time with me to get this whole sick, stupid attraction for me out of his system. "And my mom is very strict about it."

"That's fine by me. I have to be home by one, so I'll have time to pick up my second date after I drop you off," said Owen. I leaned back and closed my eyes. Was it strange to be comfortable with Owen so close to me? Well, I had a long day. I wrote two essays, finished a PowerPoint, and helped Adam with his math homework. And, I antagonized over my stupid date with stupid Owen.

My seat was warm, and there was soft music thrumming through the speakers. Owen's truck had a smooth ride. That would make anyone feel comfortable.

"Where are we going?" I crooned. I cursed myself right after. It's hard to sound cold and detached when you're just so comfortable.

"Comfortable?" Owen smiled smugly.

"Shut up," I said.

"I was going to take you to my secret place," said Owen.

"Your secret place?" I asked. That didn't sound good. I was in date rape territory.

"Yeah, my secret place. It's this club house me and my dad made when I was little," Owen pulled off of the highway and on to a residential road.

"Where is your clubhouse?" I asked.

"It was in our old backyard, but we moved and the house got torn down." Clubhouse? That didn't sound very dangerous. As long as I had cell phone service, I shouldn't worry. But, I was dealing with _Owen. _The same Owen that threw one of my best friends into a glass door for no reason. Bully Owen.

"Why?" I asked.

"Why what?" asked Owen.

"Why did the house get torn down?" After having Owen live there, I can't blame anyone for tearing it down.

"Foundation problems, and the wiring was bad. The house started to sink when I was really little, and we couldn't open the windows anymore. Right after Tristan was born the brick cracked because the foundation was settling. Dad said it was the last straw, and we moved away. Then next tenant sued the landlord because there was an electrical fire. A developer bought the land from the landlord, since he was broke after the lawsuit, but the developers went under, so I think the city owns the land now." Owen knew about probate law? I was surprised at how articulate he was, too. I had expected more of a gorilla.

I sat back and didn't say anything for a while. Then, I started worrying about being alone with Owen again. He noticed when he saw me biting at my nails. "Chill out," laughed Owen. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would have already done it. It wouldn't be hard. You don't look like you could run away."

"What makes you think that?" I asked, looking down at myself. I didn't look unhealthy, did I?

"I've seen what you eat for lunch. Doughnuts does not a meal make," said Owen condescendingly. He was right. I loved doughnuts, but that wasn't any of his business.

"Have you been stalking me?" I asked.

"You're not that irresistible, little girl," said Owen. He turned again into a wooded area. "My little brother sits at the table behind you."

"Yeah, after you wouldn't let him sit at yours," I said.

"I didn't do that, my friends did."

"You're guilty be default," I said. He looked angry, and didn't reply for a minute.

"I'm not a bad brother." He said in a tone that suggested finality. I didn't push him anymore. The subject made me think of my own sister, Darcy, who had been back from Africa for months, but I hadn't seen her. She felt betrayed. I don't know if it was because Mom and Dad got divorced, or because Mom and Glen got married.

Owen turned one last time on to the old remnants of an asphalt driveway. I saw a little rubble of what used to be the house piled off to one side. The plot was grown up, but so were all the other ones around it. There was a 'for sale' sign sticking in the tall grass, where someone from the road could barely see it. Owen drove off of the driveway and a little further, into where the back yard must have been. Then, the woods took over.

"We're here," he said.

"I don't see a club house," I said. He got out of the car and walked around to my side to open the door. I didn't know how much I missed having a boy do that for me, but I reminded myself that this was Owen, and he wasn't actually _nice._

"We have to walk a little. The truck might get stuck," he said. I stayed behind him a few steps, so I would have a head start if I needed to run away. I hadn't had good experiences in the woods before. We followed a little path about a hundred feet deeper into the woods. I didn't see the club house until I had almost passed it up. It was built right behind a big oak tree, almost like it had been hidden.

"Here it is," said Owen. He opened the makeshift plywood door. "Watch your head."

The club house was child sized. I couldn't stand up straight when I got inside. There was a little window cut out of the side, with a kebab stick frame but no glass. I sat near the door. Owen crawled in and sat down across from me. He opened the pick nick basket he brought and laid out a little yellow blanket. "I didn't know what you actually like to eat, since all I ever see you scarf down is junk food," said Owen. "So, I tried to cover all the basics." He pulled out two hamburgers, a little container of chocolate pudding, a container of fresh fruit cut in little squares, some Twinkies, and two sodas.

"Where'd this _feast_ come from?" I asked sarcastically.

"My kitchen," said Owen.

"Oh, so you're a chief?" I joked.

"Of course. I'm also a doctor."

"Really?" I said as I reached for a soda and a hamburger.

"Yes. I'm an amateur gynecologist," he said. I couldn't help but laugh. I usually didn't like asshole humor, but Owen's was . . . dare I say, cute? No, I don't dare say, because it wasn't. Ever. Couldn't be.

"Got any ketchup?" I asked.

"Can't have a burger without it," he said. He reached into the basket and pulled out some packages. "Want mustard?"

"No thanks. I like to take it one condiment at a time," I replied.

"That's no way to live, little girl," said Owen. "Life has to have some verity. Sometimes," he poured both a packet of ketchup and mustard on his hamburger patty. "You've got to live dangerously."

"Extra mustard is very dangerous," I scoffed.

"It starts with little steps," said Owen.

"Little steps," I repeated.

We finished our hamburgers in comfortable silence. Next came dessert. He handed me a plastic spoon from the basket. "Do you want the fruit or the pudding, or the Twinkies?" asked Owen.

"Pudding," I said.

"But I want the pudding," said Owen.

"Too bad, big boy," I said. I lunged for the pudding, but Owen was quicker.

"How 'bout we share?" asked Owen. He crawled over and sat next to me. Right next to me. Our arms were touching. I shifted a few inches away from him.

"How 'bout no?" I grabbed for the pudding. Owen jerked it away and planted his little plastic spoon in it. Then, I sighed and went for the fruit. I was _not _going to share pudding with Owen. That would mean I was actually consenting to having fun with the baboon sitting next to me, instead of just proving him wrong. And was I ever. I wasn't scared anymore at all. Perhaps it was the parochial setting, or the full feeling in my stomach, but I was more than comfortable.

"Now I want the fruit," said Owen. He reached for my fruit, but I wouldn't give it to him.

"No. Eat a Twinkie," I said, pointing my spoon at the two forgotten pastries.

"I don't like Twinkies," he said.

"Neither do I," I said.

"Then give me some of the fruit," said Owen.

"Only for the pudding," I replied.

"No. I want the pudding too," said Owen. "And I'm not going to stop until I get it. Who do you think is stronger, little Edwards?"

"I am," I said.

"Are you really that deluded?" he laughed.

"Maybe," I said.

"Look, we both know you can't defend your fruit," he said. I shivered, taking that in a perverse manner. "So, be a good girl and share with me." I looked down at the fruit. Then, at the pudding. Was it worth my sense of self-respect? Well, I could share. I might get sick for sharing food with a gorilla, but I would never have to do it again. I only needed to give Owen one date to prove that I wasn't scared of him. Besides, pudding was always worth more than dignity. Everyone knew that.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, but if you give me herpes-"

"Hey, I don't kiss as many girls as you kiss boys."

"Not true," I said. I didn't think Owen was that cute, but other girls did. Surly he's kissed more people than me.

"Alright, let's crunch the numbers. I've kissed four girls." That couldn't be right- or could it? I hadn't ever seen him with any girls, except for Anya last year. I never really liked Anya. Not because of her personality, but of the vacant face she always wore when I saw her in class.

"You've got to count guys too, big boy."

"I'm not a fag, little girl. Your turn."

I took a second to think. K.C. made one, and then, although I don't like to count him, Wesley, -I started counting on my fingers- Declan defiantly didn't count, Eli, of course, then Jake, then Liam, then Jake, then Eli. So, all together that's . . . Five. Shit. And, I couldn't take it back. I already had my stupid fingers out.

I sighed angrily and took a big bite of the pudding. "Shut up," I said with a full mouth. He reached over with is spoon and took a bite of fruit.

"I always win," he said.

He scooted closer to me. "So we can share better."

"Sure," I said sarcastically. "Owen, this food is actually," I cursed myself for saying it. "Good."

"Well, thank you," said Owen. "There are a few things I can do right, Edwards."

"Just a few," I said. Just like the burgers, we finished our dessert in a comfortable silence. Both of us watched the evening turn to night out of the little window. I should have been chiding Owen about something. I looked for something- anything. I couldn't complain about the food, or the atmosphere. Owen wasn't making me feel uncomfortable, or like I was going to be molested. Even the view out of the little window was nice. The only thing I didn't like was the temperature.

"I'm cold," I said.

"You're wearing a coat," he said as he packed our pick nick back in the basket. He tossed the Twinkies out of the little window.

"So? I'm still cold," I said.

"Fine," he said. I almost did a double take when he unzipped his jacket and held it out to me. "If I get pneumonia, I'm blaming you." I tilted my head at him. "Here, take it." He shook it at me. "I don't have fleas," he said. I rolled my eyes.

"I didn't say you did," I said. I took his jacket and put it on over my own coat. "Thanks," I said begrudgingly. Owen made his way past me and to the door. Was it Owen or his jacket that smelt so good? I sniffed the collar. It was the jacket. But, the jacket probably smelt like Owen.

_No. _I told myself. Owen does not smell good, and he's not appealing. Owen was a vain homophobe with a bad attitude.

"Let's go. It's starting to get chilly." I followed him out, and back to his truck. He tossed the basket in the back and started the engine. Once I got warm, I took off Owen's coat, even though I didn't want to. It was comfortable.


	3. My Last Scrap Of Pride

"What do you want to do now?" asked Owen.

"Why would I want to do anything else with you?" I asked.

"Oh, and I thought we were getting along. Look, it's only seven. Most dates last longer than that." Owen made it back to the highway, but turned the wrong way, toward Bardell territory.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"We're going to see a movie," said Owen. "There's a great new action flick I've want to catch."

"I have to be home by ten," I said.

"And you will be home by ten, alright? Not a moment late. Don't you worry your pretty little head," laughed Owen. I tossed his jacket into the middle seat and started out of the window. The stars were occluded by thick, dark clouds. It looked like it was about to rain.

I had never been to the theater in Bardell territory, but Alli and Jenna said it was nice. When we got into town, Owen took his Degrassi parking permit out of the window. "I don't want my car getting egged. We're going to cream Bardell in our first hockey match," he said.

"I'm not so sure. I heard they had a strong team this year," I said. Jenna told me. She was texting one of the players on the team. She quit when she found out he had a girlfriend, which was a surprise to me.

"They do," said Owen. "But we're better." Normally, I would find that kind of blind confidence annoying, but it fit Owen. If he wasn't that way, he wouldn't be Owen.

Owen threw his jacket back on when we got to the theater. "I know one of those new vampire movies is out, but we're not going to see it," said Owen. "We're seeing Flash Voltage, and that's final. No arguments."

"Oh, and I _really _wanted to argue with you," I said.

"Here," said Owen. He stopped to wait in line at the box office, which was outside. Owen handed me a red credit card. "Go get some snacks. I'll wait out here."

"We just ate," I said. I didn't like Owen telling me what to do. Actually, I didn't like anyone telling me what to do.

"Go get some snacks. If we wait, the line will be too long." He had a point. The ticket line was already too long, and the ones inside at the concession stands weren't any smaller.

"Fine," I said. I took the card and went to wait in line. I was getting what _I _wanted. I looked down to the card to see which of his parents he had stolen it from. Seeing _Owen Milligan _etched in capital letters across the bottom of the card surprised me. Maybe he wasn't such a deadbeat after all? Well, he was still a jerk. I flipped his card over. A jerk with a nice signature.

When it was my turn in line, I waited for the pimply kid manning the counter to get done bagging a sack of popcorn for someone who dropped theirs. I noticed the Bardell colors of his jacket, maroon and white, and decided to make myself scarce. "Can I have two medium Cokes, a medium bag of popcorn, and some Twizzlers, please?"

"That's ten fifteen, please," he said. I handed him the card. "Owen Milligan? Boyfriend?" he asked. I disgusted myself by nodding. If I didn't, he would think I was dumb enough to try and pay with a stolen card.

"Yeah, he's getting our tickets," I said.

"I can't blame him. Line's long tonight," he said. "But it's movie night for Bardell."

"Movie night?" I asked.

"Yeah. Everyone who made the honor roll for the first half of the year gets half priced movie tickets tonight. I would be taking advantage of it too, if I didn't have to work," said the boy as he got my popcorn and filled my drinks. He tossed a package of Twizzlers on the counter, and handed the card back. I put Owen's card and the Twizzlers in my coat pocket. I carried a drink in each hand, and the wax paper bag between my fingers. I didn't worry about dropping it, since I'm sure the human pizza behind the counter would have bumped me to the front of the line to get me another one.

Owen was waiting on me with two paper tickets in his hand. He grabbed the popcorn and a drink from me and we went through the line to have our ticket torn. The ticket taker was a pretty blonde girl. I didn't like the way she looked at Owen when she was tearing his ticket in half. I took Owen's arm when we left, as if to mark my territory. I may not have wanted him to be, but Owen was _my _date.

"I didn't know you were that aggressive," said Owen. He leaned closer to me. "You know, I have a pair of handcuffs in my glovebox-"

"I'm not _aggressive,_" I said. "I just didn't like her."

"Well, that was hot," said Owen. I dropped his arm.

"Shut up," I said. I followed Owen to the right showroom, and he held the door for me.

"We're sitting in the back," he said.

"I don't like sitting in the back," I said. We turned the corner and started walking back up the stairs.

"Fine. Sit by yourself," said Owen. I almost did, but I saw that most of the people here were scraggly Bardell boys, and I would rather take my chances with Owen than with him. At least I knew Owen's license plate number. He sat against the back wall, and I sat next to him.

We missed all the previews except for the last one- and it was for some Angelina Jolie movie.

"Oh, look, she's a spy in that one," said Owen, looking interested. "She's covered in leather."

"She's a spy in all of her movies," I said. I didn't like her.

"True," said Owen. He pretty much took the popcorn over by the time the movie started. No skin off my teeth. I took to my Twizzlers and my thoughts. My soda was flat, the theater was cold, and I was tired. On top of that, the movie sucked, but Owen seemed to like it, so I didn't say anything. I hated it when people complained about movies I liked. When the main character 'died' and the movie lulled a little, Owen did the old yawn and stretch deal. I planned on pushing his arm away when it came down, but he was really warm. What could it hurt? I wouldn't ever go on a date with Owen again.

I kept a scrap of my pride when I resisted leaning into him. He held my shoulder in his hand gently. When Owen wasn't talking, he wasn't such a jerk. But, I wasn't really prepared when he started playing with my hair. How did he know I liked that? Or that I liked chocolate pudding, or seat warmers, or having my door opened?

There were only two logical ways of him knowing those things. One- he had asked my ex-boyfriends. Or, two- he had been stalking me. Or, Owen was actually a gentleman which was completely illogical. I placed my bet on him stalking me, because there was no way in Hell that Owen knew how to treat a woman.

"What are you doing?" I asked quietly.

"Your hair is soft," he whispered dreamily. Slowly, and I felt like a total tramp for not stopping him, he leaned closer to smell it. "What is that? Triple Nutrition or Pure Clean?" he asked.

"Triple Nutrition," I muttered, shocked that he could pinpoint my hair care products. "You've got a great nose," I said. Was he gay, or was he just a wack job? I doubted he was gay. Even though I thought homophobia sometimes resulted from a person's repressed homosexual urges, Owen didn't come off as gay to me. "How do you-"

"Oh, no reason!" Owen's voice broke. "It's . . . um, what my Mom uses." He turned his head away from me and moved his arm. Was he embarrassed? Even in the dim light from the silver screen, I could see that his cheeks were flushed. It was . . . sickeningly cute, and kind of sad. I hated to see people embarrassed. And, no matter how many times I told myself that Owen wasn't a _person, _I still felt bad.

I sighed. I knew I would hate myself for this when I was alone. I shifted over and put my head on Owen's shoulder. He seemed surprised, but went along with me all the same. He wrapped his arm around me again and played with my curls until the movie was almost over. Sensing the end, I leaned away from Owen and gathered my trash. When I looked back to him, I realized he had lost interest in the movie altogether. How long had he been staring at me?

"What?" I asked. He didn't say anything. He just kissed me.

It took me a second and a half to get over the shock. I pushed Owen away. I was _not _kissing Owen.

"Clare, I . . . I'm sorry," he said. "I just . . . I thought," he turned away from me. "You were just being nice. I'm sorry," he said. Owen stared down at his feet. I felt my heart drop. There was something about those big, sad blue eyes- I couldn't leave him feeling like that.

"Owen," I stalled. I wracked my brain for something to say, but I couldn't think of anything. How do I usually solve my problems with boys?

I reached around and touched Owen's cheek. My fingers drifted down his neck to his collar, and I rubbed the cotton in between my fingers. Hm, he was wearing blue? When I looked back up, Owen was staring again. I always hated it when people stared at me, but his eyes weren't Eli's eyes trying to look through me, or Jake's trying to look inside me, to see what I was thinking. Owen was just trying to look at me. I liked that.

How did I solve problems with boys? I kiss them. Whatever happens after that usually resolves any problems.

Here goes my last scrap of pride.

So, following my normal pattern, I leaned closer and kissed Owen. He didn't move for a moment, but then he kissed back. It was so soft, and so gentle. I didn't think anyone could be so feather-light, and still make me feel like he was in control. He threated his fingers in the hair at the back of my head. He tasted like sweet soda. His must not have been flat like mine. Or maybe he liked it flat?

We didn't break until a loud crash in the movie made us both jump, because we knew we were doing something wrong. Then, the screen went black, and the credits rolled. Owen and I left the showroom like everyone else. He held my hand and led me to the car.

"We've got to get you home," he said. "To make your curfew."

I laughed. "I lied," I said, still high from the make-out session. "I don't have a curfew. I just didn't want to be out too late with you," I said.

"Wow," Owen laughed. I was happy he wasn't mad. I couldn't think about how much I was supposed to hate him. My head was too fuzzy. I liked to kiss boys. Anyone who knew me at all knew that. Owen opened my door. "I didn't know I was that bad a date," said Owen jokingly.

"I didn't know you were that _good _of a date," I replied. I regretted it the second I said it. He smiled and closed my door.

"So," he said when he sat back in the driver's seat. "Does that mean I get a second date?"

That brought me back to reality. I looked down at my shoes. "Owen, I don't think that's a good idea," I said.

"Why not?" he asked. "We're having fun," he said.

"I know, but I don't think my friends would like it," I said.

"Oh, you mean Eli?"

"And Alli and Adam," I said.

"Well, my friends wouldn't exactly approve of you either," said Owen. "Sure, you're cute, but you're a liberal bitch," I didn't take offense at the chauvinist slur.

"I'm not _that _liberal," I said.

"And you're short. I'm way out of your league," said Owen. _Playing cocky, are we?_

"I beg to differ," I said. "At least I have a decent personality. And I'm not that short."

"You're a rude little girl," said Owen.

"And you're a big bully!" I said. "You know what? I think you're afraid."

Owen scoffed. "Afraid of what?"

"Showing people who you really are," I said. "I think you're putting on a tough, manly front to hide that you're not really a meathead."

"I am tough and manly," said Owen. "But I'm not about to go around expressing my _feelings_ like your queer little ex." He was referring to Eli, I'm sure.

"Eli isn't queer," I said. "He's just . . . deep, that's all."

"Isn't he like, insane with a side of crazy?" asked Owen.

"No. He's just," I couldn't admit that he actually was insane with a side of crazy. He was doing alright at the moment. I didn't want to jinx him. "He's just emotional."

"He's flamboyant," said Owen. "Who would want to date a guy like that?"

"A girl who was tired of guys like you," I said. "Guys who bottle whatever emotion they have until they have to punch something."

"Really?" said Owen. "Then why did you date Jake? He's a man's man."

"Jake isn't walled off, he's simple. It doesn't take a psychologist to understand him. I liked the simplicity," I said. And, I was on the rebound. I had to do something about it, didn't I? Okay, maybe not.

"True," said Owen. "But I'm not walled off, or bottled up, or anything like that. I'm perfectly normal. Some people just take my jokes to hard."

"I don't think throwing someone through a door is a joke," I said. Owen was silent for a moment. "But you're right. Adam took it _hard."_

"That was a mistake," he said. "But, she just-"

"He," I corrected.

"What?" asked Owen.

"Adam is a he," I said.

"Gracie," Owen said. "Is a girl."

"Adam is a boy," I said.

"She's just . . . confused," said Owen. "People aren't born _that _way."

"Do you really think Adam would take all the abuse he does if he wasn't sure of what he was?" I asked. Owen knitted his eyebrows together in thought. I wanted to say I saw smoke coming out of his ears, but I bit my tongue. For once, I cared what Owen had to say.

Owen's face relaxed. He didn't say anything for a long time. "Well, I still think they're all just confused," he said. "Just confused," he repeated, more to himself than to me.

"What about your brother?" I asked softly. I didn't want to bait him into an argument.

"Tristan is not gay," said Owen firmly. "He just doesn't know what he is."

I didn't push him any further. I recognized that he didn't hate gay people, and he didn't hate transgender people. He just didn't understand them, and most people are afraid of what they don't understand. I couldn't give Owen a wake-up call, or a lecture. He didn't like to be told what to do or what to think. And he wasn't laid back like Jake, or a great listener like Eli. He was Owen. Owen, who was filled with cute pseudo-confidence and interesting false bravado. He used it to get by.

And, even though it made me feel like I was betraying my friends by thinking it, I liked Owen. I mean, I didn't _like _Owen, but I thought we could maybe have some kind of crack friendship, behind our real friend's backs, of course. Oh, Hell, I was making up a sanitized, plutonic version of Romeo and Juliet in my head. This was bad. Really bad.

Owen drove back towards Degrassi. We didn't talk much on the way home. The radio was on, and the heat made me feel sleepy.

"Since you don't really have a curfew," Owen said, "Do you want to find something else to do for a little bit?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," said Owen. "You can help me with my English homework. I'm still tanking that class," he said.

"Why would I help you with anything?" I asked playfully.

"I should have guessed. You want me to fail, so you can spend another year with me."

"Oh, Hell no!" I laughed. "I'll do anything if I can get rid of you. What kind of homework is it?"

"An essay," said Owen. He started to say something else, but my phone rang. "You know-

"Hold up on that," I said. I saw it was my mom, and I almost didn't pick up. "What's up?" I asked her.

"I need you to come home," she said.


	4. Guess Who's Coming To Dinner

"Why? What happened?" Mom never asked me to come home early. Mom and Glen loved having the house to their selves.

"Guess who's coming to dinner," she said. "Your sister. Just before Glen and I were about to leave, she busted in with your father." She sounded very perturbed. Every time she mentioned my father she sounded perturbed. I sighed and fell back into Owen's leather seat. Great, that's just what I needed. "Apparently, she's been staying with him for three months." I knew that, and I hadn't called Dad because of it. How can he make room for Darcy and not me?

Well, she always was the favorite child. That precious firstborn- the one who gave up her life to do Christian mission work, while I quit going to church and dated a baby daddy, a step-brother, and a bi-polar artist. I can't say I blame them for caring about Darcy a little bit more than me, but I don't know how they put up with her attitude. Ever since she decided she was going to donate her time to Christ, her 'holier than thou' attitude has gotten worse and worse. Now that Mom and Dad are divorced, and I'm, as she said, drifting among sinful boys, it's like holy world war three in our family.

I comforted myself by thinking that if we were poor Chinese, we would both be useless girls, instead of just me being useless.

"I'll come home," I said. I couldn't leave Mom alone with Darcy. That would be a capital familial offence.

"Thank you, sweetheart. Can you stop somewhere and pick up some stuff for me? I was going to order pizza," I loved pizza, "But Darcy is insisting on a home cooked meal."

"Yeah, what do you need?" I asked. Being at my mother's beck and call wasn't my favorite thing, but she sounded distressed. Darcy could make anyone pull their hair out. Mom listed about fifteen items, which I tried to commit to memory. I couldn't. I wasn't good at remembering things in order, or in a list, or with a pneumonic device or song. "Mom? Just text me a list, okay?"

"Okay, but I'm not good with those little buttons on my phone," she said. Mom was kind of new to the texting thing. Ever since she broke a perfectly manicured nail on her Blackberry while sending her very first text message, she abhorred texting.

"Just have Jake do it, alright?"

"Alright. I'll see you when I see you," she said. "Be careful on the bus with those groceries."

"I'm not taking the bus," I said.

"Oh, honey, don't try to walk with all that stuff-"

"Bye Mom," I said right before I hung up. "I know what we can do, Owen." I said.

"What? It sounds like I need to take this little girl home to see her mumsey," he said.

"You can take this little girl to the grocery store first," I said. "Mumsey needs some stuff."

"Sure, as long as I don't have to pay. I'm kind of broke," said Owen.

"No you're not," I said. "But I've got the bill.


	5. Take A Wild Guess

"What kind of syrup did she need?" asked Owen. "Aunt Jeremiah?"

"Kayro," I said. I leaned over the shopping cart. We found the only grocery store between Degrassi and Bardell that stayed open late. It was empty except for us, and an old black lady with a sour, wrinkled face.

"Light or dark?"

"Take a wild guess" I replied tartly. I didn't like to go grocery shopping. I didn't like to cook either, although it was an artistic outlet, and I should probably exercise my pallet. Food always tastes better when other people cook it.

"Dark it is," said Owen as he tossed it at me. I stepped backwards and it fell neatly in the cart.

"Wrong!" I said with a smile.

Owen scowled at me as he plucked the bottle from the cart and switched them out. "What's next?" he said with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

"Brown sugar."

"And then?"

"That's it," I said, looking down at the half-filled cart. Mom really was planning on whipping-up a home cooked meal, even though it was late. Darcy got what Darcy wanted. And Clare got what Darcy wanted. The world revolved around Darcy, and I was just an asteroid who wanted to smash into her stupid face.

I shouldn't be so hard on my sister. It wasn't her fault that she was better than me at anything and everything. It wasn't her fault that Mom and Dad loved her more. Oh, wait, it was her fault. If she weren't such a hag, she wouldn't hog all of the attention in a five mile radius of her big head.

After we found the brown sugar and checked out, Owen made me put the groceries in the back seat by myself. He did take the cart back, though, which was nice. I guess.

"I didn't ask because I thought it might be personal, but why do you have to go home?" he asked. We started back down the highway towards Degrassi.

"My sister's in for a visit," I said.

"You don't sound very excited," said Owen.

"I'm not. My sister is a terror," I muttered unhappily.

"A terror?" asked Owen. "Didn't she go overseas to do mission work? Terrible people don't do mission work."

"Terrible Christian people do. Besides, her attitude is awful. If I were a heathen, I wouldn't want her to save me from anything," I said.

"I don't remember your sister. She was just a bit before my time," said Owen. "But I've heard she was an uptight bitch, just like you."

"I am _not _uptight," I said. I don't know why I took more offence to 'uptight' than I did to 'bitch.'

"Shut up. You are so," he said. He jerked his steering wheel a little too much when he changed lanes, just to jar me around. A sadistic smile curled around his face. I huffed angrily. I got used to the way Eli drove his Morty- smoothly. I suppose dead people don't like to be jerked around. "When was the last time you saw her?" Owen asked.

"Oh, last week," I said. "I saw her eating a sandwich at The Dot."

"Then, why is her visit a big deal?"

"Because I didn't talk to her," I said. I didn't like the look on her face while she was talking to that Jane girl. Her nose was too high in the air. "And she hasn't called Mom in a year."

"Ouch," said Owen.

"Yeah, ouch."

Owen didn't reply. He held his hand out over the middle seat. Reluctantly, I reached over and took it in mine. I needed someone to hold my hand, even if it was Owen. He wasn't a complete idiot, just a sadistic prick.

Darcy would be the death of me. She already had me holding hands with someone who should have been one of my mortal enemies, but, Owen's hand did felt warm and solid against my soft cold fingertips.

"You have statue hands," said Owen.

"Statue hands?" I asked.

"White and cool," he said. "Like a pretty Roman statue." I had never gotten a compliment on my hands before, and I wasn't sure what to say. I just smiled at Owen. His cheeks turned red. Before tonight, I thought he only blushed when he was sweating away at a football game in the raw summer heat.


	6. Replaced With Prettier, Older Pod People

It was 8:45 by the time Owen got me home. My entire family was lounging in the front yard, in imported lawn chairs, like the upper class white trash we were. We were the most blended, dramatic, and problematic family in our neighborhood. All our neighbors hated us.

Jake knew Owen's truck. I was screwed.

Think quick, Clare. I wasn't screwed, I was helping Tristan and his friend with an English project, and Owen was nice enough to drive me home. I didn't even believe that, but I was sure Jake would take it at face value. Mom and Dad wouldn't care much what I was doing, and Darcy finds fault with everything I do anyway.

When Owen turned the engine off and went for his door handle, I tried to stop him. "You don't have to get out," I said.

"Are you embarrassed of me?" he laughed. "I'll just help you with the bags and be on my way." Why did he want to help me with the bags now? He didn't at the grocery store. "I'm sure you're smart enough to explain me off to your family," Owen opened his door. He rubbed his chin with his hands thoughtfully. "Or maybe you're not," he laughed. I rolled my eyes. Owen reached over and patted my knee. "I'm sure you already have a neat little scenario written up."

"Actually, I do," I said. But it was anything but neat. I got out of the car and grabbed some bags from the back seat. Owen did too. He strutted up the sidewalk and to my porch in front of me, as if to imply to everyone that he was obviously better. Of course he was better- he had most of the bags.

"Oh, Clare! It's good you're home," said Mom. I saw Jake giving Owen a strange look, and Owen winked back at him. I rolled my eyes. "Put those in the kitchen," she said as she followed us inside. "Who's your friend?"

"That's just Owen. He gave me a ride home," I said.

"Oh, so you were helping him with his homework?" she asked. I dumped the groceries on the counter. Mom went right to the sink to wash her hands.

"No, his little sibling," I said. I knew I would get more inquires if I told her his little sibling was a boy. Much less a gay boy. And I would never get the end of it from Darcy. Hell, I would never get the end of it from her now, since I showed up with a virile young man at night time. She probably thinks I was out having demonic sex with him in a park, or a dirty, pay by the hour hotel room.

"Oh, you didn't have to do that," she said to Owen.

"It's dark. A girl like Clare shouldn't be taking the bus at this time of night," said Owen.

"A girl like me?" I asked. I leaned back against the counter and crossed my arms, waiting for an explanation.

"Yeah, a silly little girl like you," said Owen. Mom _laughed! _She laughed! Traitor!

"Owen, you're _too_ funny," she said. "You should stay for a while. Have dinner," she said. She didn't really care if he had dinner. She just wanted more people here, so there would be more buffers between Darcy and herself.

"No, he shouldn't. He should go home," I looked at him. "Soon."

"I'd love to stay for dinner," said Owen.

"It'll be late," said Mom. "I wanted pizza," she muttered. "But no, we have to have spaghetti."

"That's fine. I love pasta. I think I'll go outside and talk to Jake," said Owen. When he walked off, I turned my aggression to my mother, like a normal daughter was supposed to do.

"What did you do that for?" I asked.

"Do what?" she asked. She grabbed a pot from under the counter and began to fill it with water.

"Ask him to stay for dinner," I said. "He's a jerk." I didn't think he was a jerk an hour ago when I was making out with him, but I do now!

"Oh, come on. He did a very nice thing for you, and you should appreciate that," said Mom. I didn't argue. She was right. I was a rude pig, but I was a rude pig that lived here, and had the complete civil liberty to lock myself up in my bedroom if I so choose. I went up there, but I didn't go to my room. I went to the bathroom and brushed out my hair. My curls had fallen out. Oh well, whatever. I was just going down to dinner.

I brushed my hair again, and tilted my head. I didn't feel right going down like this. I might as well go to dinner in my pajamas. Wait, I usually went to dinner in my pajamas. Something was wrong with me tonight. I put my hair in a ponytail and brushed my teeth. I thought about make-up, but Darcy and Owen would pick on me for it.

Owen. Breaking down, I put on just a _little _mascara.

Then, I made my way back down the stairs. "Mom? Do you need any help?" I asked. She shook her head.

"No. Just go outside and talk to your sister. She's been asking questions about you all day," said Mom as she chopped onions. She was making spaghetti and a pecan pie. I didn't really care for pecan pie, and it didn't really go with spaghetti, but Darcy and Dad loved it.

I moseyed through the living room, looking at the old family picture on the mantle. There used to be a big blow up of it hanging on the wall, but that was before Darcy left and I started going to high school. We were so happy there for a while. But we're so different now . . . almost disgustingly so, like we had been replaced with older, prettier, pod people. I eyed my smile in that picture. I haven't smiled like that in a while. I was at Catholic school and things were simple.

I forced myself away and out the front door. There wasn't a chair for me, so I just sat on the steps. Owen was standing next to Jake, looking tall and wearing a stupid grin. Jake was chuckling about something, but I couldn't tell what. When he saw me, he broke out in a full laugh.

"What?" I asked.

"Oh, I was just telling Jake here about the time I saw you slip on the wet floor in the hallway," said Owen. "Complete with pantomime." When had I slipped in the hallway? And how did Owen know what a pantomime was?

I remembered now. I fell about a month ago, when I was rushing to a yearbook meeting. My feet slipped out from under me and I went flying, with four dozen flyers in my hands. Had Owen saw that? The hallway was empty . . . or I thought it was.

"My ego still hurts a little bit," I said. I wasn't going to take offence in front of Jake or Darcy. I didn't worry about it. I just kept wondering how Owen saw me that time. Maybe he was looking at the cameras in the security room? He was in there enough, with the security guards who made him watch his own wrongdoings.

"Just your ego?" asked Jake laughingly.

"So, how was Africa?" Owen asked Darcy, who was filing her on nails, looking bored.

"Hot. I suppose it's because of all the pagans," she said, trying to make a joke. No body laughed. "I saved fifteen people on that trip," she said. I wondered how many people threw themselves to the lions to save themselves from Darcy. I'm sure it was in the hundreds. "And, I helped build a church." She did do that, if you call using a nail gun once, for one day 'building' a church.

"That's very admirable," said Owen. "That must be where the tan came from."

"No, the tan came from the Super Spray next to Walgreens," said Darcy. "They do great prom sprays. Clare, who are you going to prom with this year?" she asked. I immediately thought of Jake, since we talked about going together a few months ago. We decided that that would tip our parents off.

"I don't think I'm going," I said.

"Why not? It's a milestone in your young life," said Darcy.

"Well, the chicken is always dry," I said, rolling my eyes. "You know how I feel about dry chicken."

"How 'bout you get a boyfriend real quick?" asked Darcy. "You seem to be good at that, from what I've heard from Dad." I stopped short of calling Darcy a pompous whore.

"Apparently not, since I don't have one," I replied. "It seems I've lost my touch."

"Your touch is the only thing you haven't lost," said Darcy.

"Shut up," I said. She had no room to talk. Wow, that was mean. I'm mean. I really should try to curb that. Tomorrow. I was too busy curbing my enthusiasms tonight.

"Don't tell your sister to shut up," said Dad.

"Don't tell me what to tell my sister," I said. Dad was _not _the boss of me.

"Touchy, Clare-bear," laughed Owen condescendingly. "Respect your elders."

"You know what Owen? You can s-"

"So!" said Jake, cutting me off before I could tell Owen to shove his foot back in his mouth where it belonged. "Dad, didn't you use to play hockey?" asked Jake quickly. Glen, who had been sitting in his chair quietly, straightened his posture.

"Yeah, I did. Why, son?" he asked.

"Owen plays hockey," said Jake. "He's good."

"Oh, which position do you play?" asked Glen. I tuned out to their manversation. Instead, I looked at Darcy. I didn't say anything, I just looked at her that way she hated me to look at her. I looked her up and down, tilted my head, and squinted.

"Where's your glasses?" she asked critically.

"Where's your freckles," I asked back.

"I had them lazered off," she said. "Like Lindsey Lohan. Your turn," she said. Mom had told her I had eye surgery, she just forgot, or she didn't care to remember in the first place.

"Me too," I said. Then, I squinted at her again.

"Of course," said Owen loudly. "I'm sure Clare could take me down."

"What?" I asked, feeling disgusted with myself at taking his statement in an obscene way, and not hating the concept as much as I should have.

"Oh, nothing," said Jake, trying to cover his friend's ass.

"I was talking about tackling power on the ice," said Owen. "And I bet you have more than me." I don't know how, but he meant that rudely, implying that I was manly or something.

"Hm," I said. "Too bad I can't ice skate."

"I can't either," said Jake.

"_I _can," said Darcy, curling her hair around her finger as she looked at Owen. She was _not _hitting on him. "I can ski too," she said as she tilted her head. She was hitting on him.

"Is that so?" he asked, leaning over on his knees. He was taking the bait, hook, line, and sinker. I felt my heart drop, and beat hard in my chest. Then, it rose up again, and raced. Darcy was _not _stealing my man that I didn't want. I didn't like Owen too much to let that happen.

Okay, that made no sense, but it worked out in my head. I didn't like to argue with myself.

"Owen?" I asked, sweetly. "Do you think you could teach me to skate?" I had never had the urge to learn to skate, and I really didn't want to, but men eat that kind of thing right up. It makes them feel superior.

He smiled slyly at me. "Of course," he said. "You're a quick study."

"I don't know," I said. "Textbooks and ice skates are _very _different," I said, looking up at him through my eyelashes. I had never considered that I was a great flirt, but I suppose I was taking a page out of Darcy's book. If she were ever smart enough to write a book, that is.

"No," Owen crooned. "All you've got to do is follow directions."

I leaned back and smiled. Jake, who knew what I was doing, rolled his eyes at me. Darcy looked a bit put out, which was how I wanted her. She looked best with her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. Mom looked at me like that a lot.


	7. Don't Deny It

"Hey, Glen?" asked my dad. Dad knew what I was doing too, since he had always watched the competition between Darcy and I. If it had anything to do with wits, I won. If it had anything to do with tans and boobs, she won. I wasn't sure which kind of exchange it was this time.

"Yeah, Randal?" asked Glen. Glen didn't want to be friends with my dad because of the way he had treated my mom.

"Do you like horseshoes?"

"Yeah," said Glen. He adjusted the collar of his dress shirt. He must have been taking Mom somewhere nice. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason. I just noticed your set over there. It's very nice," said Dad, making an attempt at flattery. He was a grade A kiss up when he wasn't being a grade D cheater.

"Thank you. My son made it for me on my birthday," said Glen. He smiled at Jake. "Do you want to play?" No one ever wanted to play horseshoes with Glen. Jake didn't like it, and I couldn't throw the heavy shoes.

"I would love to," said Dad. I didn't know he could play horseshoes. He used to spend all his time at work, or inside watching the news with a grimace on his face.

They walked off to Glen's horseshoe set and started playing. Glen was obviously better, but I had decided that Glen was better than Dad at almost everything. Just like Jake- they were good at things. They just were.

"Clare!" called Mom from the kitchen window. "Clare, come and help me for a minute."

In the kitchen, Mom had dinner ready- spaghetti and garlic bread. "Set the table," she said.

"For how many?" I asked.

"Seven," she said.

"We're going to let Owen eat at the table?" I asked.

"Yes, we are. Why are you so hard on that boy?" she asked.

"He's not a boy. He's an ape," I said as I got the plates out of the cabinet.

"I'm sure you didn't think that when you got out of his truck," said Mom. I dropped a plate a little bit harder than I should have.

"What?" I asked.

"Don't deny it. I saw that big smile you had on your face," said Mom as she reached for the glasses out of the other cabinet. "What it is with you and your relationships?" she asked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I grabbed the pitcher of tea and the pitcher of water out of the refrigerator and sat them in the center of the table.

"It means that I've never seen you have a normal relationship." I didn't take the dig hard, it wasn't strange to hear something critical from my mother, but it got me thinking.

I didn't respond for a long time. "Maybe I'm just not cut out for a normal relationship. Maybe there's something wrong with me," I said with a shrug.

"Clare, I didn't mean it like that," said Mom, trying to smooth things over.

"Yes, you did," I said. And she was just too nice to admit it.

"I . . . I didn't mean to . . . What I meant was . . ." she stumbled over her words. She was just sharing the family sentiment- that there was something fundamentally wrong with me. My grandmother actually thought that I should be institutionalized and treated with shock therapy because I was 'a little too off'. "Maybe you would benefit from talking to a professional about your feelings?"

"The table's set," I said, ignoring her. "Do you want me to call everyone in?"

"Please."

I kept the stony expression I wore when my mother suggested I see a therapist on until I made it to the door. I felt weak. I leaned against the door for support. Mom was just trying to help. I knew that, but it didn't make me feel great that she thought there was something wrong with me. There was something wrong with me, but I didn't know what it was exactly. Everyone has that problem. Other people can see what's wrong with us, but we can't.

I knew what was wrong with everyone outside. Oh, I could tell you that Dad was never happy with what he had, and Glen had low self-esteem since his wife left him. Jake lacked internal direction, and wasn't ever exactly sure what to do. That led him to go with his gut. Darcy had been devalued one too many times, so she liked to let us all know how much better than us she was. Lastly, Owen was afraid of things he didn't understand.

But me? I didn't know what was wrong with me.

Just before I opened the door, Owen rushed in. I stepped back. "What-"

"Your sister can't take a hint!" he laughed. "I said I had to go to the bathroom just to get away."

"Yeah, that's Darcy. She's a few Saltines short of a cracker box," I replied slowly.

"Emphasis on cracker," he laughed. "Clare, what's wrong?" he asked. "You look a little green."

"Oh, nothing. I'm fine," I said. "Mom's got dinner ready. I was going to tell everyone else," I said as I tried to walk past Owen. He pulled the door closed behind him and put his other hand on my arm. I closed my eyes and swallowed, trying my best not to lean into his touch. I had a weakness for warm, strong hands.

Instead of leaning in, I stepped back and caught my heel on the stairs. Owen's hand had slipped from my arm, and gripped my wrist coming down.

"Thanks for trying to catching me," I said sarcastically. Owen smiled and tilted his head. Why would he catch me? Was I stupid enough to think that he actually liked me?

"Why should I catch you," he put his knee down on the stairs and leaned closer . . . closer . . . closer. "When I can do this instead?" he asked as he put his hand on the step behind my head. Owen nuzzled my nose with his. Unlike inside the movie theater, I didn't turn away from his first kiss.

I shouldn't have been kissing him back, but, what the Hell? One more time couldn't hurt. It wasn't like I could have stopped him.

I felt disgusted with myself. It was like . . . I couldn't get away from Owen, and I liked it. I really should have felt very scared. Owen had me in a position that I couldn't get away from. He was on top of me, and I was just lying on the floor in his shadow.

When Owen moved down to my neck, I heard something rustling in the kitchen.

"Owen my-" my breath hitched. He found that special spot on my neck, right above my collar bone. I scrunched my eyes and tried to gather my thoughts through my foggy mind. "My mom is-oh,"

"Is mommy in the next room?" crooned Owen sadistically. "Are you afraid that mommy is going to catch you, little girl?"

"No- ah," he scraped his teeth against my neck as he put his other knee down on the other side of me. "I just don't-"

Owen kissed my lips again. "Shut up," he said.

"You shut up," I whispered back.

Owen scoffed, and stood up. My body shivered, since Owen was just so warm. "I don't want to get kicked out," he said sadistically. "I can't let your parents get a bad impression of me. They wouldn't let me go out on another date with you."

"I'm never going on another date with you," I whispered half-heartedly. I got up and went right to the door.

"Yes you are. You can't resist me," he said.

I laughed as I opened the door, thinking he'd been joking. He didn't want to go out with me again. I was a loser- a brainiac with a soft heart for other losers.

A flash from the sidewalk caught my eye. Mom was standing there, with her big camera in her hands and a stupid grin on her face. "A perfect shot!" she exclaimed as she reviewed the picture on her camera. Everyone looked at her. "Dinner's ready."

"Mom, how'd you get out here?" I asked on the way back inside, after everyone else had passed.

"Oh, I used the back door," she said.

"What for?" I asked.

"Well, I just heard you and your friend talking . . . I didn't want to ruin a moment you may have been having."

"You've never worried about ruining my moments before," I said.

"Well, I just felt kind of bad, since I married your boyfriend's dad. I owed you one."

"You know who owes both of us one?" I asked.

"Who?"

"Darcy."

"You've got that right," laughed Mom.


End file.
